


Here's Where the Story Ends

by cathybites



Category: Supernatural, due South
Genre: M/M, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathybites/pseuds/cathybites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for <span class="ljuser ljuser-name_pocketmouse"><a href="http://pocketmouse.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://pocketmouse.livejournal.com/"><b>pocketmouse</b></a></span> as part of the <span class="ljuser ljuser-name_apocalyptothon"><a href="http://apocalyptothon.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://apocalyptothon.livejournal.com/"><b>apocalyptothon</b></a></span> fic exchange thing.  much love to <span class="ljuser ljuser-name_cruelest_month"><a href="http://cruelest-month.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://cruelest-month.livejournal.com/"><b>cruelest_month</b></a></span> for the beta.  title from the Sundays song of the same name.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Here's Where the Story Ends

**Author's Note:**

> for [](http://pocketmouse.livejournal.com/profile)[**pocketmouse**](http://pocketmouse.livejournal.com/) as part of the [](http://apocalyptothon.livejournal.com/profile)[**apocalyptothon**](http://apocalyptothon.livejournal.com/) fic exchange thing. much love to [](http://cruelest-month.livejournal.com/profile)[**cruelest_month**](http://cruelest-month.livejournal.com/) for the beta. title from the Sundays song of the same name.

Ray remembers listening to that first report, that first notice that something hinky was going on in the world, and thinking it was a load of bullshit. "What a load of bullshit," he'd said to himself, smirking at the hysterical note in the announcer's voice. _That's a nice touch_ , he'd thought, along with the way it cut out before the end, the dead air that hissed through the speakers. It had sounded creepy as anything but he'd figured it was just a hoax or something, like that War of the Worlds thing, some crazy sci-fi gimmick that was going to get a bunch of people worked up and possibly hurt.

He'd been convinced he was right when Fraser got an urgent call from Moose Jaw. Fraser had explained, "They are requesting my assistance in a..." His voice had trailed off at that point and he had rubbed a thumb over his eyebrow; Ray had been able to see him trying to fight a smile. "It's really quite ridiculous. Despite the beliefs of various cultures on the matter, the likelihood of re-animation--"

"No, I know, probably just some dumb kids playing a prank and people are all freaked out. I get that," Ray had said, and Fraser had nodded and smiled. They'd kissed, Fraser had left, and then six days later he had come back, looking like he'd been through a fucking war, completely shell-shocked and his eyes empty of everything but numb horror.

Ray had seen a lot in his years as a cop - hell, he'd seen a lot of insane and freaky shit just with Fraser as his partner - but nothing, _nothing_ in the world could have prepared him to see Fraser like that, like he'd been emotionally gutted, like everything inside of him that had believed in a good and just world had been flayed out of him. Fraser wouldn't even _talk_ about what had happened for three days and when he finally did, all he had said was that he never wanted to talk about it. Then they had packed everything up and moved further north, which is what had really took Ray for a spin. All the years Ray had known Fraser, he had never backed down from a fight, had never tucked his tail between his legs and run, had never admitted defeat.

That he was doing so now? Kind of scared Ray. A lot.

Three months since that first report and they're sitting pretty at the top of the world, or close enough to it for Ray. Scattered reports of what's been happening come in through the static of the radio and from the few people that happen their way: the government has fallen apart, most of the United States is a war zone, religious leaders around the world have declared that the end times are here.

But Ray doesn't care about that; he only gives a shit about what has happened to his world, to the people in it. Although both Fraser and he had tried, they haven't been able to reach anyone. Not Ray's brother, not his folks, not the Vecchios, not Chicago, not anywhere. Ray knows what that probably means but...he doesn't like to think about it, doesn't like to think that just about everyone he's ever known and loved is gone. As far as he's concerned, they're all holed up somewhere in their own little shacks, waiting for the whole thing to blow over.

Every day that passes by, though, makes that a little harder to believe.

Three months of sitting in their cabin, too tense and jumping at every little noise from outside, and one day a beat-up black car appears on the trail. The snow chains on the tires clank out an unsteady beat as Ray shoots Fraser a questioning glance. Fraser tilts his head to the side, eyebrows drawn tight in suspicion, and shrugs. Without a word, he reaches slowly for the shotgun he always has at hand and they both step outside to check it out.

It stops about twenty yards from the porch and the driver's door opens, a man Ray didn't recognize stepping out. He's a young guy, tall and solidly built, and his eyes narrow as he eyes Fraser, then Ray, then Fraser again.

"You the Mountie?" he asks, chin jerking up to indicate Fraser.

Ray scowls at him and Fraser's hold on the shotgun tightens before he nods curtly. "Although the RCMP is defunct, I do still consider myself a member."

"Good, great," the guy says and the passenger door opens, letting out another young guy, even taller than the driver. _Christ_ , Ray thinks, looking the both of them over, _they're like fucking Abercrombie & Fitch models_. The second guy, the one Ray dubs Fitch on the spot, leans on the roof of the car.

"Paul Arnatsiaq said to find you." The kid mangles the pronunciation of Paul's last name, but the mention is enough. Ray can feel Fraser relax a little next to him, setting the shotgun down, out of his hands but still close, just in case.

"How is Paul?"

The two men share a glance before Abercrombie shakes his head and speaks up. "Not so good. Got attacked the night before." There's a hint of drawl to his voice that Ray recognizes but can't place. Definitely American, though.

Next to him, Fraser opens his mouth but no words come out for a long moment. He clears his throat and tries again. "Was it--?"

The driver nods, face grim and saying everything that hasn't been said, that Ray is pretty sure nobody wants to say or hear. The fear winds its way through Ray's veins, turning his insides ice-cold and making him numb all over.

"Dear God," he hears Fraser say just before he plops down in one of the porch chairs. Ray reaches over, places a hand on his shoulder just to steady him, and Fraser leans into it, body slumping like he'd just been gutshot. "I didn't think it would happen this far north. I thought it would be cold enough to stop them."

Abercrombie and Fitch share another look. "Guess we should've listened to all the hippies bitching about global warming," Abercrombie says. He smirks at that but there's nothing in his expression to say that he's laughing.

"Fuck," Ray manages to croak out; beneath his hand, he can feel Fraser shaking. He waits for Fraser to say something, anything, but Fraser just sits there, staring out over the snow, mouth still moving soundlessly. "Well," Ray says, glancing back and forth between Fraser and the two guys, "you two need a place to crash or something? Not much here but we can put you up." _There's safety in numbers_ , he almost adds but that's not entirely true anyway. The more people huddled together, the more likely they'll get noticed, and the more likely one of them will get chomped on and decide to start gnawing on everyone else.

Abercrombie looks like he's about to speak up and say 'hell yeah' to Ray's offer but before he can get a word out, Fitch shakes his head. "Thanks but we gotta get going." He ignores the annoyed glare Abercrombie shoots at him and Ray has to grin at that; he's given the same look to Fraser a million times over.

That seems to wake Fraser up and he shakes his head before speaking. "Going? You're not going back--"

"Naw, nothing like that," Fitch says. "We're headed up north, further north."

Ray frowns at that. "If it hasn't stopped here, then it's not going to stop anywhere else. Doesn't get much colder than this around this time of year."

They both shake their heads and share another glance, and that's another thing that reminds Ray of him and Fraser, the way that words aren't necessary to communicate. "If everything's where it's supposed to be, we won't have to worry about them," Abercrombie explains rather cryptically. He slaps the roof of the car and nods. "Just wanted to stop by and let you know what happened. Maybe we'll catch you on the way back."

"Maybe," Ray says, not believing it for a second. Those kids are as good as dead as soon as they pull away. He knows it and he's pretty damn sure that Fraser knows it, but Fraser just lifts a hand and waves as they get in their car and pull away.

The car disappears around the bend and Ray finally sits down next to Fraser. He props his feet up on the porch railing, leaning back to watch the sun sink down behind the mountains. At his side, Fraser takes a deep breath and picks up his shotgun, eyes scanning their surroundings.

Ray can tell it's going to be a long night.


End file.
